It's Hip to be Square
by AlyssaFish
Summary: Balthier never question his actions. Basch never questions his clothing. This is all very silly.


Originally posted to the ff12insanity FFXII Livejournal community back in 2008, I think? If I'm remembering properly?

This is Balthier/Basch/Piece-of-Basch's-clothing.

**It's Hip to be Square**

Balthier was surprised to find how easily he and Fran had taken to traveling with four other people. Somehow he didn't mind having four other living human beings with all their walking down his halls with all their icky humanly accouterments, breathing his air, sleeping in his spare cabins, washing in his bathroom, using his stove in his kitchen…

Basch was busily frying batter for crepes, whistling and humming to himself as he jostled the pan in one hand and used the other to work a spatula.

No, didn't mind at all.

_Now here we go again,_ Balthier mused to himself over his glass of wine, enjoying the smell of sugar and view of Basch's bare biceps.

He'd been getting these peculiar feelings over the past few weeks. He told himself it was just a little bug he had caught. He went through hot spells, sat through the shivers. Endured clammy feet and sweaty palms. What else could it be but a cold? Probably from spending all those hot, sweltering days in the Eastersand, his mouth going dry and his heart giving him problems around the same time Basch jogged past effortlessly swinging his big ax.

Must be the flu.

_Oh, yes, you're sick as a dog,_ the little Balthier that lurked in his conscious agreed. _High fever, nose dripping, why don't you go and ask the Captain to make you some chicken soup? Then after that maybe he'll wipe your nose and tuck you in. OF COURSE YOU'RE ATTRACTED TO HIM, YOU MORON._

Balthier wasn't used to beating around the bush when it came to romancing women, men, or any sort of creature that had a body he could appreciate, but when it came to Basch it was rather like running face-first into an invisible brick wall and then having to spend the rest of your life staring through with your nose smashed up against the glass. The man was unattainable, simply because there was no way to get to him. Balthier couldn't even understand why he was even attracted to the smelly, muscular, handsome, golden-haired demi-god in the first place.

The hair? Was it the hair? Those loose, weather-beaten locks? The chiseled, stubble-covered jaw? The way his strong calves curved against the straps of his shin guards? Balthier's trained eyes mapped every seam of the sturdy figure. The clothes. The khaki shorts, the adorable little yellow tassel, the tomato red vest the….

Gods above, what the bloody hell was that scrap of fabric doing strapped over the captain's chest?

Basch went about his days in reasonable cheer and blissfully unaware of the pair of eyes watching his every move. Behind his back Balthier squirmed and writhed, earning himself a few infuriatingly sly glances from Fran and strange looks from Ashe. He itched and tap-danced on his toes until he put his heal down and found that he just couldn't take it anymore. This was not Balthier the sex god that numerous seafaring bastards and wenches clasped their hands together and whispered to each night before thinking of their dear mammies and own immortal souls. He was a man of action, goddammit, and he needed to do something about it NOW.

He went in while Basch was enjoying the shower, singing loudly and hidden behind a heavy curtain, braving the heavy fog of steam and snatching the piece of cloth before Basch could feel the cold draft from the open door. Balthier pedaled down the hallway, practically leaping as he escaped to his quarters. Glory, hallelujah and praise be to every esper in the sky! It was his! All his!

Balthier sat on his bed, fingering the cloth and turning it over in his hands, heart still pounding. Oh, yes. _This_ was a most curious prize indeed. _Whoever thought red, blue, yellow, and olive-green worked together_, he thought at first, _ought to have their eyes gouged out with a spoon._ It was the oddest thing he had ever seen a man don, as it had no particular function or reason that it should be worn other than to simply _exist_. It was strangely…alluring. Like Fran's special satin nightie. It gave you a bit of a shock at first, but once you got past that you realized that you rather liked what you were seeing. It was strangely familiar, those strips of fabric woven together in a grid like a…like a…wait a minute, his mother had had the same thing hanging on the fridge. Except…Balthier pressed it to his face and took a deep breath. Oh, _now_ he'd done it. His mother's kitchen had _never_ smelled like _that_. It was all because this very piece of clothing, right there in his hands, had the privilege of lying right on top of Basch's well-toned chest.

Lucky bastard.

Balthier scowled at the fabric before lovingly folding it and shoving it into his sock drawer, taking a moment to smooth back his hair, brush off his vest, and check his shirt cuffs before smoothly leaving and locking his bedroom behind him. On his way to the cockpit, whistling through his teeth, he passed the bathroom where Basch was just finishing up.

Basch found himself in a bit of a predicament. His military sharpened, trusty Von Ronsenberg senses had told him that something was deeply and horribly wrong. The last time he'd felt that nagging feeling that he'd gone and misplaced something, ambassadors had been stabbed and his brother had ended up stealing his best suit. As he ruffled through the clothes he had haphazardly thrown on the ground, he couldn't help but notice the absence of one very important article. He frantically turned his shorts inside out, searched the pockets, gave the vest a few hard shakes. He checked the corners, looked under the sink, opened the lid of the toilet, checked the fold of every towel, and crawled around searching the floor in a very un-dignified manner. He was coming very close to panicking when Penelo interrupted him by banging on the door shouting that she had to pee and he was being a big bathroom hog. Basch remembered he had to get dressed and reluctantly gave up.

His chest felt uncomfortably bare.

Being the resident deadbeat when he wasn't busy making sure wild animals or overly emotional government officials didn't slice his companions to ribbons, Basch had mastered the art of pretending to be very busy when he wasn't. He couldn't go right out and _say_ it to anybody, because then there would be questions and funny looks that he absolutely did NOT want to deal with, so he opted to sneak around when no was looking, overturning couch cushions, poking around in air vents, checking the vacuum bag, and doing his very best to be inconspicuous.

"Ahem," Basch cleared his throat.

"Yeah?"

"Vaan?"

"What?"

Vaan didn't even look up, completely absorbed in his task of tinkering with a piece of machinery that looked like it had the capacity to blow them all out of the sky.

"I was…"

Vaan stuck his tongue out as he worked on a particularly stubborn screw.

"…I was…just wondering…if you happened to see any of my clothes lying about."

Vaan picked up a hammer and started banging away at the metal like it owed him something.

"…Vaan?"

"What?"

Basch sought out someone else.

"…so you're sure you haven't noticed anything…out of place…" Basch trailed off helplessly as he reached his fifth solid minute of shuffling the same deck of cards.

Penelo just continued to stare at him blankly and blinked a few times.

"Basch, you look different. Did you cut your hair or something?"

At the other end of the table, Balthier choked on a grape.

It wasn't like he wasn't taking good _care_ of it. He scheduled in frequent trips to his room in-between his piloting shifts. He'd take it out for a visit, pet it, trace every weave with his finger and sneak in small whiffs. Anything to make it feel appreciated, instead of a thing he'd just snatched and stuffed into a sock drawer.

"Balthier, put it down," Fran advised as she turned another page of her magazine, one night as they lay about their bedroom getting some relaxing before they turned in for the night.

"Mmn, I think I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear that, love."

At first he was just fine with letting it live in his drawer and sleep under his pillow, but soon he got into the habit of tucking it inside his vest, right next to his handkerchief, so now he could walk around with an extra bit of cushy warmth over his breast that actually felt quite comfortable. No wonder Basch liked wearing it.

Meanwhile, Basch wasn't faring so well without his mock tea cozy. The rest of the party couldn't help but notice his increasing sense of aggravation and grouchy-ness. It wasn't that Basch was feeling _betrayed_ or anything, as he was pretty sure that by now he didn't have any back left to stab, but it wasn't a very big ship, and as talented as his missing scrap of clothing was, it couldn't grow legs or levitate itself at will. Whoever it was might as well have swiped his boxers while they were at it. Someone had deliberately misplaced it, and either someone was out to get him or it was some poor bastard's pathetic cry for attention. In Basch's honest opinion it was most likely the first.

This was all very distracting, not to mention he was still cold. If he _liked_ feeling a breeze in that area he wouldn't have gone out of his way to pick a poorly constructed cover up he could slap on to make up for his shirt's lack of shirt. So Basch was not at his best or brightest and could be forgiven for not noticing, one hot and sweaty day pummeling beasts in the Eastersand, that Balthier had been nailed in the side by a crazed wolf until the man had given a yell and nearly shot himself in the foot putting the thing down.

"Sneaky little bastard," the sky pirate said, when he had finished. "Gave me a nip in the…"

Balthier keeled over and hit the ground. Basch and Penelo ran to him, Penelo kneeling down and slapping his face while Basch worked quickly to un-strap the cumbersome chest piece that was not helping Balthier's attempts to breathe in the stifling heat.

Basch's jaw dropped as he saw what had been smushed between the plate and the front of Balthier's blouse.

A few stitches and a hard drink later found Balthier lounging on his good side in his room, entertaining a surprise visitor.

Basch wordlessly held up his once A.W.O.L chest cover.

Balthier smiled and held up a bottle of liquor.

"Would you care for a drink, my good man?"

The expression on Basch's face left little wiggle room for the imagination to conjure anything but suppressed rage and fury from his perfect deadpan.

"Come, now, don't look so surprised. Surely you must know my taste in accessories by now," Balthier held up his left hand and wriggled his gaudily decorated fingers for emphasis. "No harm done, then. Here, let me fix this ridiculous thing for you."

Balthier stood up, with some pains to favor his injured side, and strapped the cover on Basch's chest, his fingers lingering for much longer than necessary as he took pains to straighten it. Basch looked down in mild surprise.

"It's quite a handsome craft, isn't it?" Balthier heavily patted Basch's shoulder. "I am loath to part with it."

Basch grunted. "So am I."

Balthier was still pretty confused about the whole affair, even after he'd had the opportunity to mull it over a few times. Was it his eyes? Balthier didn't think himself to be much of an eye person. Too many other body parts to worry about. His posture? The way his ribs still poked out too far? The old, pinched skin of his scars? He certainly had a lot of them. Balthier had the opportunity to make a count. His bellybutton. Was there anything special about his belly? Balthier sighed to himself, one hand idly drumming his fingers over the red, green, blue, and yellow weave as he felt Basch's chest rise and fall with each breath.

It was his cooking, Balthier decided. Basch was just a really good cook.

Fin.


End file.
